Alternate Series 5
by HopeCoppice
Summary: Written to keep me (and maybe you) supplied with YD-related joy between episodes, and as a bit of a challenge to myself as I have no clue where this series is going but am going to try to vaguely follow some of it. Not intended as a slight to the actual writers! SPOILERS FOR YD5. Updated Wednesdays (hopefully).
1. Alternative Medicine

**So this is a bit of a challenge to myself - writing an alternative plot to series 5 as it happens. This means I have NO IDEA where the series, or this story, will go, but I'm going to try to keep as much in as I can. Some characters may be completely different, though! Here's episode one.**

**It does rely a bit on you having seen the episode (I didn't want to repeat myself) and it's got less dialogue in it than an actual episode would require, but whatever.**

**TOTALLY FULL OF SPOILERS FOR 5x01**

Renfield was counting quietly to himself, trying to reach two million before his young playmate got bored and wandered off, when he heard a noise that seemed out of place. A voice, perhaps, along the corridor. Prowling out to see what was happening, he noticed that a window had been forced open and closed it firmly, and the realisation sent shivers shooting down his spine. He rushed to the stash of weapons and potions, grabbed some pigweed and a net, then picked up a chain for good measure and raced along the corridor.

He didn't remember, later, what he cried as he single-handedly subdued the hooded figure – no doubt a slayer threat - and he didn't have much memory of telling the Count, though he was sure his Master had been incredibly proud and grateful. What he did remember, however, was the sickening lurch in his stomach as he realised that the net and chain lay empty on the floor.

At last, everything became clear. Master Vlad was back.

* * *

With hindsight, Vlad was glad he'd decided to run through his newly-learned process once more for practice before attempting anything that would truly _require_ the protective charm he'd scrawled on the blackboard. Renfield had doused him in _pigweed_, of all things, and he had no idea what effect that would have had on his plans.

Then, of course, he'd been reunited with his family and all hope of getting things done quietly before they could distract him had been lost. They'd been mildly unimpressed by his demonstration of his meditation technique and reacted predictably enough to his vegetarianism, which he suspected had mortally offended Renfield, so soon enough he'd deemed it wisest to retreat to his room.

He knew what they thought of his new lifestyle, his journey across the world to become 'a dirty unwashed hippy' as his father had told him when he set out, but they could never understand. This pilgrimage, of sorts, and the new diet, they were only the tip of a vast iceberg. It would take so much more than this to cleanse himself of what he'd done, to detoxify his spirit. Perhaps, he had been warned, it could never be done. But he had to try to make amends.

Now that he was home, he wasn't sure that coming back just yet had been a good idea after all. What if he wasn't ready? What if he strayed down that dark path again, or simply failed to stay on the right course? Perhaps he should return to the masters, or to Talitha. There had to be more he could learn, there had to be a surer way...

Well, there was no way he'd be able to get back before dawn, so he supposed he'd just have to bunk down in his old room for the day before heading off once more.

* * *

Ingrid had been an official member of the Vampire High Council for a few months now, and she was sick and tired of being at the bottom of the pecking order. Tonight, however, all that was going to change. The Head of Education had been caught fiddling his expenses, and now his job was open. She would have to be sure to have her office thoroughly swept and dusted, just in case there were any lingering remnants of its previous occupant there.

"When do I start?" She smirked victoriously at the vampire behind the desk, but her face fell as he led her into the new Head of Education's office and introduced her as the Head of Catering. _Suited to her natural abilities,_ indeed. She was fuming as she took his drinks order, forced pleasant conversation about his ridiculous technology, and continued on her rounds. By the time she'd suffered the indignity of introducing herself as the Head of Catering – a fancy name for what was clearly a tea lady's job – to everyone on the Council, she'd realised a few very important things.

The first was that she was in no way cut out to be a tea lady; the second was that she'd taken so long in swallowing her pride as she made her rounds that it was almost dawn. With those two things in mind, she took off for home without so much as bothering to find the blood cellar.

When she landed back at Garside, however, she allowed herself a tiny smile of grim determination. The third thing she'd realised in her travels was that people would do and say all sorts of things when there was only a lowly tea lady to hear them. That meant information, and information she could use. Ingrid Dracula wouldn't be a tea lady for long.

* * *

His father was trying to convince him to stay, even as Vlad started packing his bags. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Renfield hunting around for something; Wolfie, no doubt. At last, his father asked him if he'd show him how to meditate.  
"Is _that_ why you've been hanging around?" The Count nodded reluctantly, and Vlad set his bag aside. "Well, why didn't you say that was what you wanted? Of course I'll teach you." Putting off his departure for _one _night to spend some quality time with his dad couldn't hurt, after all.

As he should have predicted, the Count quickly grew bored of meditating and started quizzing him about his travels instead.  
"Where on earth did you get those chopsticks?" Vlad sighed.  
"They're not chopsticks. They're Tibetan meditation sticks. They're black and white to represent Yin and Yang. Negative and positive. Darkness and light. Death... and life." He sighed. "Every vampire holds both within himself, and is truly neither. The balance is important." He glanced up from the sticks he was holding to see that his father had actually fallen asleep, still sitting cross-legged on the floor. Well, there was nothing like an appreciative audience... and this was nothing like an appreciative audience.

He gazed absently at the black stick for a while, thoughts wandering to Talitha. She would tell him to stay a little longer, he was sure. _Stay until you've finished your business._ He supposed she _would _say that, but all the same it might well be sound advice. If there was one solid thing about Talitha, it was her common sense.

Well, then. He'd leave tomorrow night, and perhaps by then he'd have plucked up the nerve to try it for real.

* * *

Ingrid spent the day watching a breather set up her new state-of-the-art computer. She pressed a random button, when he was done, and watched as an error code flashed up. It never hurt to be underestimated, after all. But then, as he offered to help her with her task, he managed to turn it into a bargain; his assistance for a date.

She might have disagreed with her older brother on a great many subjects, but she still remembered what he'd helped her to realise when she'd been playing Ramanga for the fool he was. She didn't need any man, and she certainly didn't need to use herself as a tradeable commodity to do it. The breather creep was promptly kicked out into the harsh light of day - which utterly failed to affect him, much to Ingrid's personal disappointment - and she settled back into the computer chair to do something he'd obviously never considered her doing; consult the manual. Ingrid was a clever girl, and she'd spent a few lessons in the computer lab at school; it didn't take long at all for her to work out the basic functions of the Vampire High Council's new site and worm her way into the new Head of Education's files, which he'd been foolish enough to put online with only the most basic of protections. She only popped downstairs for a drink, and was ambushed by her father, who wanted Vlad to stay a little longer. Well, that wouldn't hurt to arrange.

That night, at the start of business, the aforementioned Council Member found himself faced with an Ingrid wielding blood, money and secrets. For now, she settled for bribing him with the last of her savings – her father would pay her back when this worked out – and leaving him to underestimate her for a little longer. It got her exactly what she wanted – well, what her father wanted, which might in turn bring her the respect and the space that she'd always craved – and her plans were still coming along nicely.

* * *

Vlad was on his way across the courtyard, having completely bottled it once more, when the letter dropped from the sky. If he hadn't noticed his own name on it, he would probably have just stepped over it and taken off – he was cutting it perilously close with the approaching dawn as it was – but instead he stopped and picked it up.

Scanning it quickly, he rounded on his dad.  
"The _Batalaureate_? Is this some trick of yours to keep me here?"  
"I don't have any influence over the High Council-" his father protested, and Ingrid hastened to join in.  
"Don't look at me, I'm just the tea lady." Renfield was spluttering something, but Vlad cut him off.  
"I'm still not staying. I'll take some revision books with me and just drop back for the exam-"  
"There's something on the back," Ingrid interrupted, though she'd have to have been suspiciously observant to notice it. He turned the paper over.

"A curfew after dark? They know that's total house arrest, right?"  
"Looks like you'd better settle in and find yourself somebody to tutor you," his father smirked, but Vlad just pulled a pen from his bag and began scribbling furiously on the blank space at the very end of the letter.  
_Batalaureate approved. Curfew overruled by order of Grand High Vampire Vladimir Dracula IV._

"Looks like you all forgot who's in charge around here. I have a veto on all new laws, especially something as restrictive as this." He tossed the letter into the air for the wind to catch – he had no idea how that worked, but it seemed to be reliable enough – and turned to his family. "You're right, though, a tutor might be handy. I have one in mind, as it happens."

* * *

"Mistress Ingrid? I can't find Wolfie anywhere, and we've been playing hide-and-seek for ages. Have you seen him?" Ingrid rolled her eyes.  
"I'll tell you, if you move that old cabinet for me. Just over there will do." Renfield had to struggle and strain to move what was, in truth, a fairly sizeable wardrobe, across her chambers - but at last he stood triumphant, panting, and waiting for his reward. She shrugged. "Wolfie's been at school camp for the last week. He'll be back tomorrow."

Renfield didn't look convinced, so she marched him down to the little boy's room and pointed at an old, moulting mound of fabric on the bed.  
"Look. He wouldn't leave Pup behind if he wasn't coming back soon." Honestly, she was surprised he'd left the toy at all, but then the egos of even very small boys were fragile at the best of times and might not survive taking such a large cuddly toy on a school trip. Renfield's face lit up, though, and she was able to shoo him away and return to her new quarters with a satisfied smile. Vlad's decision to stay despite revoking the curfew had worked out very nicely for her. Now she just had to plan her next move.

* * *

Vlad locked the classroom door this time before running through his routine, checking that he'd remembered every step correctly. When he was confident that he'd got it, he retrieved the item he'd stolen from Erin's old room earlier that day. She'd tried to keep it from him, but now, with his newfound talent for meditation and the contents of the little urn he held in his hands, he could begin to move on from his mistakes. He couldn't afford to back out now; he had to pass this test, and he couldn't do that with only his own brain working in his favour. This would give him the edge he needed to succeed.

Carefully, he redrew the protection spells on the board one last time, then set out what he needed in a circle. From now on, he had to be so focused that he wouldn't notice an enemy breaking the door down, never mind one of his family members unlocking it; he hoped they wouldn't, because that could cause his entire plan to fall apart.

Unstopping the urn, he poured the contents carefully into a single pile about a foot in front of his crossed legs before taking up his sticks – one for death, one for life, for both were a vampire's birthright and both they were denied in truth – and began to chant, sacred words of power that he had learnt from Davos Ikeous at his seat in the Himalayas, where a vampire with the right skills and ambitions could learn much more than simply how to set his mind at ease. At last, as he reached the end of his mantra, he shifted gracefully onto his knees, bowed down all the way to the floor, and carefully blew away the ashes he'd so carefully spilled earlier.

He closed his eyes as the wind of his artificial breath shifted the fine dust away from him; this was the final part of the rite, the one that meant he only had one go at this; he'd never be able to gather the ashes back together if he'd failed, and he couldn't afford to fail. But there was silence in the room, and his heart sank. Was that it, then? Had he ruined everything in his haste? Was all hope lost?

For a moment longer, Vlad stayed exactly where he was, eyes tight shut as he'd been taught, to protect them from the dust. Then he felt an icy hand tangle into his hair and grip firmly, jerking his head backwards.


	2. Alternative Methods

**So, here we are – episode 2. I hope you don't mind too much about the timeline alterations, but hey, if it was the same as the real episodes it wouldn't be a fic.**

**Disclaimer: **_**Young Dracula **_**isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.**

**SPOILERS FOR 5x02 and once again it might not make much sense if you haven't seen the real episode.**

* * *

_**Previously: **_  
_For a moment longer, Vlad stayed exactly where he was, eyes tight shut as he'd been taught, to protect them from the dust. Then he felt an icy hand tangle into his hair and grip firmly, jerking his head backwards._

* * *

Vlad's eyes flew open, instinctively seeking to identify whoever had him in their grip. He was all too aware of the vulnerable position he was in as his eyes swept upwards over a deep, rich red of the variety his father preferred, over a body he knew _wasn't_ his father's.  
"Bertrand," he managed, as his eyes met his former tutor's. "It worked."

Bertrand was staring about him in utter confusion, though, and his hand in Vlad's hair was still as cold as anything Vlad had ever felt, fingers still twisted tight into the dark strands.  
"What-?" His eyes settled on the blackboard and narrowed slightly before he glanced down at the assortment of ritual objects around him. "You brought me back." Vlad nodded awkwardly, wishing he could sit up, and Bertrand suddenly let go of him completely, stepping backwards as if he'd been burned. "You killed me."

* * *

There was a knock on the kitchen door in the late afternoon, and before Renfield could open it a little boy let himself in, looking tired and muddy and carrying an oversized teddy.  
"Wolfie!"  
"Renfield!" He hugged him. "I had so much fun at camp, we all slept in tents and we were right by the trees and someone said they could hear a werewolf howling in the woods but that's stupid because it wasn't even a full moon and anyway even if there was a werewolf they didn't need to be _that_ scared 'cos it would probably only be Dad snooping around-"

Renfield gave up on trying to get a word in edgeways and concentrated on smiling and nodding in all the right parts of the boy's story.

* * *

Ingrid woke to hear loud music coming from Vlad's room, but when she banged on the door to complain about it she got no response. Since the sun had just set, she decided to head to the Council library, where she could read up on the latest current affairs – and, more importantly, their precedents - in peace.

To her surprise, she wasn't the first person in the library. The Minister for Education, Warnock, was already there, scanning ancient tomes laboriously into his computer system. She spared him the briefest of glances and, when he looked up, a barely-courteous nod, which he returned. Smiling slightly at the novelty of being responded to like a vampiress worthy of respect as opposed to a tea-lady hardly elevated above breather status, she settled to her work.

* * *

Under the cover of the blaring stereo, Vlad was trying to accomplish the unenviable task of explaining everything to Bertrand all that happened in his absence. He needn't have bothered turning the music up so loud, however; Bertrand was quiet and resigned, if wary, as he paced the room and glanced, occasionally, at the locked door. Vlad didn't want to keep him in the room against his will, but he also didn't want anyone bursting in just yet.  
"...And I don't expect you to forgive me, but I had to bring you back. And... I wanted to apologise. For not trusting you. For... what I did."  
"For staking me." Bertrand's voice was as cold as his hand had been.  
"For... yeah. For staking you." Vlad could feel emotion prickling behind his eyes; his throat tickled, he felt awful, and-

He sneezed explosively, and couldn't stop. Bertrand ran to unlock the door when it became clear that the problem wasn't going to fix itself, and before Vlad could warn him against it he was calling for Renfield. Vlad succumbed to yet another violent sneeze, and when he looked up, Renfield was the only other person in the room. His father arrived soon afterwards, but Bertrand was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Ingrid had never been so humiliated in her life. Warnock had told her he was going for a bite to eat – she'd actually almost thought it was _nice _of him, in a warped, patriarchal kind of way, to tell her he'd get it himself and not to interrupt her work on his account – and then he'd crept off to the meeting without her. Well, he'd paid for that dearly; his motion had been defeated yet again. He'd pay more dearly still, before she was finished with him.

When she came home, she found her brother locked away in his room, the same loud music still playing, until there was an almighty crash and the surprisingly distinctive sound of a stereo hitting a wall. A man in a biohazard suit emerged – judging by the hair sticking out of the front, it had to be her father – with Renfield close behind.  
"Renfield, cure him! But no tests. Do you hear me? No tests!"

"What's going on?" She smiled sweetly as her father rounded on her, pulling off his protective mask and hood.  
"Oh- er, nothing. Nothing at all. You're home early-" She raised an eyebrow and cut him off.  
"Cure _who_, Renfield?"  
"Oh, well, er, Master Vlad-"  
"-'s beloved _hellhound_ has some sort of flea infestation, Renfield _go and get on with it_," the Count interrupted smoothly, and Renfield scurried off. "Zoltan is flea-ridden and we're isolating Vlad just in case he's caught any – we don't want them being passed on to those of us with long, lustrous locks. Or Wolfie, nobody wants to be stuck with the task of de-fleaing him."  
"Why don't I believe you?" Still, she let him have his secrets for now.

Besides, if Vlad really _did_ have fleas, she was going to be able to tease him about it forever.

* * *

Renfield had bustled in and out about three times before Vlad managed to stop sneezing for long enough to demand that he do a proper chemical test on him. Renfield hadn't been sure about it, but he'd done as he was told in the end. His results weren't making any sense, though. Three samples later, he had no choice but to go to the Count and tell him what he'd found out.

"Half of his DNA is like yours," he told him, "but – now here's the really funny thing – half of it is like mine." He wasn't expecting the Count's fury as he grabbed him bodily and held him up against the convenient doorframe of the old school library, snarling in his face.  
"I said _no tests_! You're going to forget everything you found out, and you're going to cure him."  
"But Master- if Master Vlad really is half breather," he choked slightly as the Count's grip tightened, "I can start looking into breather illnesses too. We might find out what's wrong-"

The Count dropped him to the floor.  
"Not a word to anyone. And _cure it_." They both hurried off in opposite directions, unaware of the third figure standing frozen between the library shelves, eyes wide in horror and mouth set in a grim line of determination.

* * *

Vlad was growing delirious; he'd never been so sick in his life. Vampires weren't supposed to _get_ sick, not unless they drank some bad blood, and Vlad was _vegetarian _now. Still, he couldn't stop sneezing, and when he wasn't sneezing he was half asleep. He could have sworn _Bertrand _of all people had walked in and put a hand on his forehead, looking anxious.  
"How did you do it, how did you bring me back? It's important, Vlad, you have to tell me-"  
"I-" But then he'd only just managed to twist away from Bertrand in time to sneeze without knocking his tutor backwards, and the movement had exposed his neck.  
"You've been bitten-?" Bertrand had moved his collar aside and sighed in relief. "A tattoo. _Ikeous,_" Vlad had thought he'd heard as he slipped into an uneasy sleep, but when he'd woken only his father had been sitting with him. He must have been sitting there the whole time. Bertrand had been nothing but a strange, feverish dream.

* * *

Ingrid was filling people's goblets at yet another dull social affair when she managed to get Warnock talking to her. She sympathised with him about the previous night's defeat, and easily tricked him into dropping his guard around her.  
"If only someone could get rid of Morgan, that old coffin-lodger," she told him, after a few choice quotes from his own online files had convinced him they were of the same mind. "A hero."  
"Perhaps someone should-"  
"But not yet," she told him, "of course you'd know better than to rush such a thing. Better to start with his deputy, don't you think? Create a space for yourself, and who knows? Perhaps you can get close enough to the top to be his automatic successor. Of course, when I say _you_, I don't mean _you. _You're utterly loyal to Morgan and his cronies. But this hero... he could be clever about this."  
"Yes." Warnock straightened up. "Yes, he could."

Then he was striding away, no doubt to make his plans, and Ingrid watched him go with a satisfied smirk before disappearing to talk to Morgan's deputy about a tour of the Council Crypts.  
"You're very forward, young lady," the old man told her, but he agreed with a lecherous smile all the same.

* * *

Renfield had tripped over Wolfie on the way to the sink to get rid of yet another _slightly_ too explosive potion, and now his lunch was wearing it. Disgustingly, the mouldy potato had started sprouting thick black hair – wait. There was potential there.

"_You_," an ominous voice came from behind him, "are supposed to be curing my son, not polishing your worthless scalp." The Count swept out and Renfield scuttled obediently back to work, but not before he noticed Wolfie watching him in awe. He glanced at himself in a mirror and was delighted to see the beginnings of a thick mop of hair taking root on his scalp. He glanced up from the glass to be confronted with the sight of Wolfie, suspiciously near the potato and obviously trying to look innocent. He decided not to question it; he had work to do.

* * *

Ingrid's gift had gone over well; Morgan was very pleased to have the plated armour under his clothes when word reached him that his deputy had been murdered in the crypts below the Council chambers. The full Council was promptly summoned to be told of the crime, and each member asked to account for his or her whereabouts. Ingrid, as the least important person there, the one nobody minded offending, was asked first.  
"I was in Warnock's office all afternoon; he was trying to explain to me exactly how he likes his blood. I'm afraid I just can't quite seem to get the hang of it."

With the conspirators excused, nothing eventful happened until the start of the smaller meeting between ministers. This time, Ingrid took her place in comfort – nothing wrong with her chair – and a fellow minister who'd patronisingly told her to fetch him a drink was swiftly reprimanded by a grateful Morgan. She smirked across the table at Warnock – out of respect, no deputy would be appointed tonight – and shuffled her notes. It was time to get down to some politics.

* * *

Bertrand landed unsteadily on a mountainside a long way from the Himalayas just before sunrise. He was weaker than he'd thought, which he supposed was only natural since he'd been _dust _not so very long ago. Still, he couldn't afford to waste time. He would rest here until the evening, in the little sheltered cave he'd found, and by then he would be stronger.

When night fell, he could continue on his quest to repay Vladimir Dracula for what he had done.


	3. Alternative Means

**Wow, what an episode. I'm sure I haven't done it justice, but here's my attempt. And yes, we are still a little behind timeline-wise. Fear not, fanglings, all will work out eventually. I hope. Reviews would be much appreciated it you have the time!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Renfield had found a cure, and that was enough to make up for the sudden mop of hair he'd sprouted all of a sudden. He and Wolfie – who was now trailing a long brown beard and moustache in his wake – had presented it to Vlad in between sneezes, and now the boy was beginning to look as if he might be recovering. In the meantime, the Count was left to deal with the imbeciles.  
"I suppose I don't want to know why or how you've both turned into yeti?" Renfield and Wolfie exchanged glances, and then Wolfie began to answer.  
"Well, there was this potato-"  
"-and I wanted to look pretty, Master," Renfield interrupted, "so-"  
"Yes, well, you failed. Now, that's quite enough of that." Vlad had just sat upright in his coffin. "Vladdy, my boy, how are you?"  
"Better. Whatever it was, Renfield, you cured it. Thanks. I'd have been dust without you."  
"Oh, well, that's very kind, Master Vlad. But probably not, it was only a cold-"  
"No-one dies of colds," Wolfie confirmed cheerfully, as he was bundled out of the door along with his repulsive butler friend.

"A cold? Vampires don't get colds."  
"Of course not, Vladdy, they must have been confused."  
"But Renfield found the _cure_-" Desperate times called for desperate measures; the Count snatched up the copy of the _Vampire Times_ he'd been reading earlier and brandished it.  
"Look, some vampires in the old country have turned their house into a vampire-themed hotel! Breathers on tap! Perhaps we could do that-"  
"Yeah, whatever, Dad. A _cold_?"  
"It's a... a temporary indisposition, to prepare your body for greater power-"  
"It was a cold. The sneezing, the headaches... it all makes sense." He frowned, and the Count tried one last time to think of a lie that would work. "It all makes sense... except that vampires don't get colds."  
"Well, exactly!"

"Dinner," a voice announced from the door, "is served. Chicken soup for you, Master Vlad-"  
"Chicken soup is for colds. Vampires don't get colds, Renfield, how did I-?"  
"Well, that'd be your breather side-"  
"GET OUT, Renfield!" The manservant scurried away, but the damage was done.  
"Dad?" Vlad's expression turned hard and cold. "I think you owe me an explanation."

* * *

"Ingrid!" She turned on her heel, waiting impatiently for Warnock to catch up.  
"I'm a busy woman, Warnock, is this important?"  
"Well, er... yes. I think so. It's just... Morgan's trying to leave you out of it again, so I thought you'd want to know-"  
"Know _what_?" He nodded, drawing himself up to his full height as if he found it easier to think that way.  
"The Council networking weekend. It's next weekend, and they intend to have you give out the name tags. Obviously, I think _we'd_ both rather you were inside."

Ingrid took a moment to consider this. Morgan was not so easily bought, then – or not for long. No matter. So Warnock wanted her there as well? That suited her fine.  
"Well, if you want _any_ support for your ideas in that room, I'd better be there."  
"Yes, quite. And I have a plan." _That_ was an unusual turn of events.  
"Go on; I'm listening."

* * *

"We could have a reception desk down in the entrance hall, and turn all the classrooms into extra bedrooms."  
"I didn't mean an explanation of the _hotel_, Dad! What does he mean, I'm half-breather?" Vlad had had enough; he just wanted answers. "Was it Mum, did she... am I even _yours_?"  
"Of course-" His father looked at him, then, and his face softened. "Of _course_ you're mine, Vladimir, I've raised you all these years, haven't I?"  
"...Yeah." Vlad felt a little sheepish at the idea that he'd reject his father just because the biology didn't match up. "Yeah, you're my dad. But did Mum...?"

The Count lowered himself into a chair and gestured for Vlad to do likewise.  
"You have to understand, Vlad, that breeding with a breather... it breaks all our most sacred laws. If anyone had found out- well, the offending vampire would be put to death and the child... _you_, Vladdy..." he closed his eyes, "would be considered an abomination. I don't know _what _they'd have done to you if they'd found out."  
"So you took me in to cover for her?" Vlad's mind was racing. "And that's why she was always so cold towards me – because she was ashamed of me."

* * *

"Well?" Warnock nodded as he joined her in his office.  
"Morgan's asked me to extend an invitation to you. To attend the networking weekend, as a proper guest."  
"With a name tag of my own, and everything?"  
"Yes. As a full delegate. He believed me, when I said I was trying to get to know you better... that I wanted you there. In fact, he didn't even seem surprised. Although he also said that if I wanted you should simply demand your hand in marriage, from your father."  
"The very idea. So old-fashioned. This is why the VHC needs young blood like you and me, Warnock. We're going to change everything."  
"You and me... for the 21st century." If Ingrid hadn't had years of practice in ignoring her little brother's puns, she might have grimaced; as it was, she just barely kept her smile fixed firmly in place.  
"Absolutely."

* * *

"Vladdy, listen to me. You are _my _son. In every possible way."  
"But Magda-"  
"Magda was never ashamed of you. She was _hurt_. She felt that I'd betrayed her. But she agreed to keep the secret, to raise you as her own, for what that was worth. It took the pressure off of her to produce a male heir. And it kept you _safe_." Vlad was struggling to keep up; everything he thought he knew had just been turned on his head.

"Then... my real mum. Who was she?" The Count sighed.  
"I met her at a Goth weekend in Whitby. She was... exquisite. Magda and I had separated – again – and I was trying to cheer myself up."  
"What was she like?"  
"Beautiful," the Count told him, with the faint hint of a smile playing at his lips. "She was beautiful – I swear, I didn't realise she was a breather until – well. She was very nice. Funny, vivacious, charming." Vlad nodded slowly.  
"And where is she now?"  
"Dead. Well, I couldn't have her telling anyone about _you_. Once I had you safely in my arms, I had to dispose of her."  
"You _killed_ my mother?" Vlad was barely aware of leaping to his feet, but before he knew what he was doing the Count was pinned awkwardly against the wall.

There was a long silence, broken only by the small choking sounds his father was making.  
"...I could never have hurt her." Suspicious, Vlad lowered him to the ground and waited as he went through a drawer next to his coffin, casting aside hair brushes and jewellery until he found... "This is your mother. Sally, her name was. As far as I know, she's alive and well." Vlad took the polaroid photograph with trembling hands and found himself staring at the face of a young woman wearing more dramatic make-up than breathers generally favoured. Beneath all the paler foundation and the black painted around her eyes, it was hard to tell what she really looked like, but her eyes seemed kind.  
"Mum," he whispered, trying it out. "Can I keep this?" The Count nodded. "Where can I find her?"  
"What? No! You mustn't _find_ her! They'll have me executed if they find out- and she has no idea I have you, she doesn't know it was me who adopted you!" Vlad leapt up, with no idea where he was going but certain that he couldn't stay in the room with his father any longer.  
"I have to, I want to know where I came from."  
"You _know_ where you came from. Vlad, I forbid it. You know now, that's all that matters!"

* * *

Ingrid returned from the Council to find that she'd inadvertently walked into the middle of some sort of circus. Renfield – wearing a ridiculous long black wig – had nearly knocked her over in the front hallway, panicking over the effects of sunlight on... what appeared to be a potato... and then the upstairs landing revealed itself to be

"I just can't believe you're only telling me this now!"  
"What's all the excitement about?" Her brother's face fell, and her father turned towards her with a similar expression.  
"Oh, er..."  
"Dad's turning this old dump into a vampire-themed hotel for breathers. He just decided we might like to know that before the work starts."  
"Well... yes. And all the fresh blood we can-"  
"The Truce still holds," Vlad interrupted firmly.  
"Oh, great. Ruin _all_ our fun, why don't you, little brother?" He rolled his eyes.  
"Well, great as this has been, I don't actually have to stand here and listen to this. I'll be in my room. _Don't_ bother me."

Ingrid very nearly followed him, just to wind him up. She was distracted, however, by what looked like a small, hairy haystack making its way along the corridor behind her father.  
"Is that _Wolfie_?"

* * *

"_George, have you seen my keys? I'm going to be late to teach my sculpting class welding- oh, never mind. Here they are!"_

Vlad lowered the photograph from his forehead and allowed his mind to let go of the psychic links tying him to its subject. His mother, Sally Gules, was a sculptor. It wasn't much to go on... but it was a start.

He logged onto the single old computer left in the former computer lab, and ran a search: "_Sally Gules+sculptor"_. The first hit seemed promising enough... He spent a moment looking at a few pieces from her portfolio – his _mother's_ portfolio – before gathering the courage to click the 'Contact' link.

_Dear Sally,  
__We are opening a vampire-themed hotel and are interested in commissioning a sculpture from you. We would like to invite you to come and stay next weekend so that we can discuss the idea. Please let us know if you are coming so we can prepare for your arrival.  
__I look forward to meeting you,  
__Vladimir._

He took a deep breath he didn't need, and pressed send.

* * *

Far away from Garside Grange, a bat flew over the mountains.


	4. Alternative Roots

**Sorry this is so late, I've been ill! Hopefully I can get back on schedule now. I'd love some reviews if you'd like to leave any. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS if you're not up to date on YD5, and it won't make much sense either.**

**Disclaimer: This is a shameless rip-off of a CBBC programme I in no way own.**

Renfield and Wolfie stood in the courtard together, surrounded by long strands of hair that seemed to be forming tumbleweed-like balls to roll away on the breeze.  
"Sunlight. As it turns out, the antidote to my hair restoring potato juice... is just sunlight."  
"Does this mean I can't have a long bushy beard any more?" Wolfie sounded quite crestfallen, so Renfield patted his shoulder in comfort.  
"Not until you're older, I'm afraid, Wolfie." The boy peered up at him curiously.  
"Will you have long hair again, Renfield?"  
"...Not until I'm younger. Come on, let's go and have dinner and then I'll let you look through my wigs and costumes. I might have a beard in there somewhere you can borrow."

* * *

"So, Dad. Here's the thing. See, this... guest, we've got coming."  
"The sculptor, yes. No, no, over there." Ingrid rolled her eyes and walked out, leaving Vlad to move a bedside table to the other side of the bed.  
"Yeah, the sculptor. Her name's... Sally." His father dropped the pillow he'd been fussing over.  
"_The_ Sally, the breather Sally, the one we agreed _never to mention again_?"  
"My mum, Sally, yes."  
"I _expressly _forbid you not to find her-"  
"But I did. And she'll be here soon."  
"Vladimir! What if she recognises me? What if she's been _pining_ for me all these years?"  
"I doubt it, since she's coming with someone called George."  
"She- what? Well- you shouldn't have invited her, Vladdy!" The bell at the front desk rang.  
"Too late. Stay out of sight." And he sped downstairs to beat Renfield to it.

The woman standing in the foyer was facing away from him, looking around with interest at the school building – he supposed he should say the hotel, now, if his father was really going to go ahead with this – and he took the opportunity to just look, trying to gather his courage. This was his _mother_. He cleared his throat awkwardly and she spun round.  
"Welcome. You must be Sally."  
"Yes." It took him a moment to realise that he should introduce himself.  
"I'm Vlad. It's... great to have you here." He hesitated for a moment. "Is... George parking the car?"  
"George? No, George can't drive." As she spoke, a young girl made her way through the front doors and looked around in awe.  
"Wow. This is really creepy."  
"...And this is George," Sally – his mother – concluded. "My daughter." Vlad was stunned into silence again, so it was fortunate that Wolfie chose that moment to come trotting down the stairs, kitted out in a bellboy uniform Vlad suspected Renfield was wearing an exact copy of.  
"Welcome to our hotel. I'm Wolfie. Everyone else here is a vampire, but I'm half-werewolf, half-vampire. Can I show you to your room?" Sally agreed, charmed, and before Vlad could react, they were disappearing up the stairs, George advising Wolfie that although it was a really cool idea, she didn't think you _could_ be a vampire _and _a werewolf and that he needed to change his story.

Vlad had a little sister. And his mother was here.

* * *

Ingrid appreciated a good sculpture as much as the next girl, but nothing was going to make her socialise with _breathers_. Instead, she'd spent the last hours of daylight repacking her suitcase before taking off the moment evening fell. Landing at the Council entrance ready for her networking weekend, she was surprised to find Warnock standing at the door taking cloaks and handing out name-badges with a long-suffering air.  
"Morgan said if I wanted you to be a delegate so much, I could help with your duties," he told her as she handed him her cloak with a grin. "I don't suppose you'd care to join me?" She almost told him to flap off, but it occurred to her that checking people in would also be an excellent chance to get a handle on who she'd be dealing with over the weekend.

"Move over, then. Let's get this over with so we can go and introduce a few influential coffin-lodgers to the future." She paused to smile sweetly at a new arrival and hand over his badge while Warnock hung up his cloak. "...Or at least the recent past."

* * *

"She's still _exceptionally_ beautiful," his father was saying, "for a breather, of course."  
"Dad, just stay away from her. If she sees you, we're for it." Vlad strode off down the corridor, intending to see how his guests were settling in.  
"You spoil all my fun, Vladimir!" He ignored the shout that followed him, knocked, and stuck his head around the door of the guest room they'd prepared earlier.

"Is everything OK in here?" Wolfie was still sitting in there, to Vlad's surprise, and neither Sally nor George seemed to mind. The latter, however, sprung to her feet.  
"I can't bunk in with Mum, she _snores_. Wolfie said I should tell you."  
"Oh! Well, er... we can't have you being kept awake all night. Come with me, and we'll see what other rooms are available."

As it turned out, George was quite hard to please, and having tried out Vlad's coffin – 'lame', the Count's coffin – 'uncomfortable', and Wolfie's room – 'smells of boy' she soon decided that she'd rather stay in her mum's room after all.  
"What's your name?" She asked, as they were walking back towards the room.  
"Vlad." She shook her head.  
"No, your _real _name!"  
"Er... Vlad." She grinned at him.  
"Oh, I see. Stay in character. That's good. Hey, we've got the same freckles!" She grinned, holding her wrist to his, and he realised she was right.  
"Yeah, I bet loads of people have. Let's find your mum. I should get Wolfie out of your hair, too, get Renfield to make you some dinner. I'll fetch you a menu." This last was addressed to Sally – his mum – as he firmly took Wolfie's arm and led him downstairs.

* * *

Every single council member at the networking weekend seemed to be competing to be the most boring vampire alive. Additionally, it turned out that only the first night was devoted to actual networking, while the second was given over entirely to a hunt she wasn't invited to. Having discovered this an hour before dawn, Ingrid was left with no choice but to collect her suitcase and return home.

When she did, the place reeked of breather. She found her father, after a brief search, hiding in an empty classroom.  
"Dad? What's going on?"  
"Hm? Oh, _nothing_. I was just... trying to visualise what we're going to do with this room. I thought maybe an ebony frame for the bed-"  
"Don't treat me like an idiot. I don't have _that _many of your genes. There are breathers in the school. Why?"  
"Oh, that's... just... _Renfield_, he's particularly disgusting today-"  
"No. Female. Try again."  
"He's trying on a new perfume-?"  
"Fine. I'll find out for myself."

* * *

Vlad was standing by, ready to take his guests' breakfast orders. Renfield had almost had a meltdown over dinner the previous evening, so he hoped they wouldn't want anything too complicated.  
"Do you think Adam would want toast or cereal?" George asked, and her mother shook her head.  
"I really don't know, George. Maybe we'll ask him some time." Wolfie, who had been hovering around since the entire household had risen at the crack of dawn, piped up curiously.  
"Who's Adam?"  
"My big brother," George told him, and Vlad choked. Another sibling?  
"You've got an older brother?"  
"I gave him up for adoption when he was just a baby," Sally explained, "George has never met him. But he'd be about your age now, so he'll be eighteen soon, and we're going to try to find him. Make sure he's alright."  
"You're... going to look for him...? That's... that's great. Excuse me, I just need to check something with the kitchen."

He left the room, but he didn't go to the kitchen. _Adam?_ He would have been called Adam... and now they were going to try to hunt him down. And they were going to find vampires, and hate him, and...  
"Dad. We've got to get rid of them."  
"I'll say. Ingrid's home."

At that moment, there was a scream from downstairs.

* * *

Ingrid had walked into the dining room to find the breathers waiting for her.  
"Well, this is a turn-up for the books. Delivered directly to the table."  
"Hello!" The smallest breather smiled at her. "Do you live here too? I love your costume."  
"It's not a costume, it's designer. Now stay still while I bite you."  
"Oh, I know you want to practice," the older breather interrupted, "but can it wait until we've had breakfast and I've spoken to Vlad about the sculpture?" Ingrid frowned, realising at last that these breathers were here for other reasons than their nutritional value.  
"...Fine," she said at last, "but if anyone asks, I terrified you and you _screamed_."  
"Oh, I can do that," the little one assured her, and promptly let out an ear-splitting screech. "There. Now it's not even lying," she said with a wink.  
"George! Keep the noise down a bit, hm? We're guests here." The older breather looked up at Ingrid with a smile. "I'm Sally, and this is George."  
"Ingrid... Count." She raised an eyebrow. "Charmed, I'm sure. Have-?" She was spared the necessity of asking where her brother was, however, by his sudden appearance in the doorway, alongside their father.

"Leave them alone, Ingrid-"  
"She really scared me," the little one – George – said, trying to be helpful.  
"Ingrid!" But while Vlad rounded on her, the woman – Sally – was staring at the Count as if she'd seen a ghost.  
"It's you. It's... _you_, I-" Then she was turning to Vlad, eyes scanning him eagerly for- well, something Ingrid couldn't begin to guess. "You, are... are you my son?" Vlad's heartbroken expression said it all, but Ingrid couldn't help asking all the same, barely noticing as Wolfie attached himself to her legs, unsettled by all the confusion.  
"Vlad? Are you her son?"


	5. Alternative Routes

**Hey - sorry for the delay (again), I've not been very well and it's hard to write this without opening my eyes, so... But here it is! And we're _almost_ caught up. Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS up to 5x05. And it won't make as much sense if you've not seen that episode.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine...**

"_Leave them alone, Ingrid-"_  
_"She really scared me," the little one – George – said, trying to be helpful._  
_"Ingrid!" But while Vlad rounded on her, the woman – Sally – was staring at the Count as if she'd seen a ghost._  
_"It's you. It's... you, I-" Then she was turning to Vlad, eyes scanning him eagerly for- well, something Ingrid couldn't begin to guess. "You, are... are you my son?" Vlad's heartbroken expression said it all, but Ingrid couldn't help asking all the same, barely noticing as Wolfie attached himself to her legs, unsettled by all the confusion._  
_"Vlad? Are you her son?"_

* * *

Vlad faltered, eyes darting between Sally, his father, and Ingrid... and decided a distraction was in order.  
"Ingrid, what did you do to George?"  
"Nothing, sadly, though I'm getting hungrier by the minute." He felt his fangs shoot down as he snarled at her.  
"Don't you dare touch either of them-"  
"How did he-?" That was George, but Ingrid was smirking and taking a taunting step towards the little girl. He threw himself at her, pushing her away as her fangs made an appearance too, before forcing her backwards towards a wall with his telekinetic abilities. There. Now his other family was safe too.

It wasn't until Sally gasped and leapt up to shield her daughter that he realised what he'd done.

* * *

Of course, it wasn't _Vlad _she was angry with. That, the Count reflected irritably, would be just too reasonable.  
"You're... you're _vampires_. And _you_ – you haven't changed a bit, you- you're one of them too, aren't you? And you- and _I_- and you took my son, didn't you?"  
"_Our_ son," he corrected, "and I didn't _take _him. _You _gave him up."  
"You- and I suppose your name's not really Salem Smith, is it?" At that, Ingrid snorted, but George, held protectively behind her mother, was peering around her at Vlad.

"So you're Adam?"  
"I... suppose so," Vlad told her awkwardly, "but I'm not a monster, I promise. I don't even drink blood, I'm _vegetarian_, I'm not evil-" Sally gave Ingrid a particularly suspicious look, then shook her head.  
"...No, of course not. And... it really is... I'm glad I got to see you. But we have to leave."  
"What-? No- Mum- you can't-!" But she was already making for the door.  
"I have to think of George, we can't stay here-" The girl in question detached herself from her mother with a little wriggle.  
"But he's my big brother, you've always wanted to see him-"  
"They're vampires-"  
"They haven't hurt us so far, have they? And Vlad will look after us." Vlad nodded hurriedly, and Sally hesitated.  
"Please... Mum?" Vlad's puppy dog eyes apparently worked just as well on his mother as they did on the Count.  
"...Fine. But just for a few hours."

"Excellent! I thi-" Vlad and Sally shot him matching withering glares and he fell silent.  
"Come on. Let's go somewhere else so we can catch up." Wolfie made as if to follow them out, then hesitated. He turned back to the Count, as Ingrid set herself down on a recently vacated seat.  
"...Does that mean Vlad's not my brother?"

He didn't really have a satisfactory answer to give to that.

* * *

George had eventually been allowed out to play in the sunlit courtyard, her curiosity about her brother temporarily satisfied, while Vlad and his mother caught up in an empty classroom.  
"I can't believe you found us. How _did _you find us?" He shrugged awkwardly.  
"Dad had a photo, and I knew your name... and... the rest was vampire stuff, I guess." She nodded, a little dazed.  
"And you... they've looked after you? You've had a good life?"  
"Yeah. Yeah, it's... it's been alright. Not exactly what you'd call normal, but... well, I grew out of wanting that, I suppose."  
"I've thought about you every day, since... it was my parents' idea to give you up, and I didn't see that I had any choice. It wasn't that I didn't want you."  
"It's OK. It would have been no fun for you, anyway, trying to bring up a vampire kid. I mean, imagine when I turned 16 and didn't know I'd burn in the sunlight."  
"Yes... I suppose it was for the best, in the end. Still, I wish I could have seen you grow up." He smiled weakly at that, glancing out of the window to see that Wolfie had joined George in the courtyard for what looked like a spirited game of tag.  
"I'll ask Dad if he's got any photos."

They turned the conversation to school grades and hobbies, to George's favourite colours and Sally's sculptures. It wasn't until it began to get dark that Vlad reluctantly left to get his little sister safely back with her mother.

* * *

The Count was still sitting in the dining room when the door creaked open and a beautiful woman took a seat at the other end of the table.  
"Ah, Sally. How _delightful_ it is to see y-"  
"I'm here to wait for Vlad and George, and that's all. Then we'll be leaving in the morning. I have nothing to say to you." She choked out a bitter laugh. "I don't even know your _name_!"  
"It's Vladimir. Count Vladimir Dracula III, to be specific." She closed her eyes.  
"Right. I went to a goth weekend in Whitby and _slept with Dracula._ That doesn't sound any more like a real name than Salem Smith does now. But... Vlad said his surname was Dracula, so I suppose I believe you." She opened her eyes again to glare at him. "I'm still furious."  
"Well, I-" He cut himself off at the sound of a knock on the door. "Excuse me. We're not expecting anyone..."  
"I'm coming too. George is still down there somewhere."

By the time they reached the door, Ingrid, Vlad, Wolfie and George were already standing in the hallway, the older siblings debating loudly over who should open it. Renfield trundled past and swung it open to reveal a young boy, looking weary. He looked straight past the manservant and met the Count's eyes.  
"Count Dracula. I seek asylum with your clan." A swift gesture, and Renfield closed the door again.  
"Dad, you legally have to help him. He's claiming asylum. If you don't, the Council will come and investigate-" Ingrid cut her brother off, pulling out an aged piece of paper with a flourish.  
"-and then they'll find out Vlad's half-breather and banish you to an endless sunlight dimension. I think we should leave him out there, personally." George reached up and relieved the vampiress of the paper, squinting at the Latin for a moment before shaking her head.  
"And you. It says the whole family would get banished. Here." She pointed, and Vlad glanced across to confirm it.  
"Yeah, it does. So you can't rat us out, Ingrid, and Dad, you need to let that boy in. Now."

He swung the door open.  
"Welcome! I offer you my hospitality. Come in out of the sunset, would you? I don't like having the door open in daylight, it's unnatural."

* * *

The boy – Asan – couldn't just be seeking refuge, of course. Oh, no, he had to come with dire warnings, too, about a terrible massacre of his people.  
"Ramanga has brought back the Shadow Warriors." She couldn't help laughing at that.  
"Shadow Warriors? What next, is he teaming up with the bogeyman?"  
"What are Shadow Warriors?" Wolfie piped up, sitting as close to his new best friend George as he could, with Sally on her other side and Renfield on his.  
"Half-vampire, half-demon, creatures of pure darkness who are vulnerable only to light. Their breath can extinguish a vampire's fire, and they are only seen when they're about to strike-"  
"Fascinating," Ingrid interrupted the strange boy, "but they all died out long ago."  
"Perhaps you will not take the word of a stranger," Asan conceded, "but you might listen to someone you know." He withdrew a small box from his bag and opened it, releasing two wildly-flapping bats into the room.  
"He's brought an army, run away!" But before the Count could move, the bats landed and transformed into a pair of very familiar faces, glaring at one another.

"Could you have taken up any more of that box?"  
"Yeah, well, it was _my_ box, it wasn't made for two people."  
"My wing may be permanently damaged where you kicked it-"  
"-you were snoring!"  
"Vlad. You're better." Ingrid stared in amazement as Bertrand – _Bertrand_, the one her brother had staked – broke off from his argument with _Malik_, of all people, and bowed his head respectfully. "I'm sorry it took me so long to return – there was trouble at Ikeous' retr-"  
"_Malik. _What the fog are you doing here?" Their older brother shrugged.  
"Getting away from the Shadow Warriors, obviously. And I was hoping I could help you do the same."  
"I said I'd stake you on sight if I ever saw you again, why should I trust you now?" Bertrand reached out and put a hand on Vlad's elbow, trying to get his attention.  
"Because the Shadow Warriors are really coming."

A tense moment hung in the air before Vlad relaxed.  
"Alright. How do we kill them?"  
"We're not going to ask how Bertrand's alive?" Ingrid interjected, but Vlad shrugged.  
"I brought him back. Davos Ikeous is a necromancer. How-?"  
"You can stake them, but only when they're in solid form. Same for beheading, garlic, all that stuff. And vampire fireballs don't work." That was Malik, interrupting smoothly. Vlad picked him up by his collar and threw him through the open door into the corridor.  
"_You_ shouldn't interrupt." For a moment, it looked as if he was going to retort, but then his eyes slid sideways and Ingrid automatically stepped forward to see what he was looking at, her father right behind her.  
"What's going on?" But then she froze as she saw it, and Malik hurled himself back over the threshold, slammed the door, and began grabbing candlesticks from the edges of the room, forming a large circle on the floor.  
"There's a shadow out there that isn't mine."

Immediately, Bertrand joined him in his quest for light.  
"They're already here."


	6. Alternative Alliances

**OK, so this is late again. Sorry. All bets are off for next week, frankly. Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS UP TO 5x05 (Yes, we're behind again) and it won't make much sense if you've not seen that.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Heavily borrowed from CBBC.**

Huddled inside the circle of candles, the Draculas and their guests took the opportunity to get up to speed on the latest developments.  
"Who are the breathers?" Malik began, and Vlad rushed to answer before anyone else could open their mouths.  
"My tutor-" Bertrand looked like he was trying to suppress a wounded look and Vlad winced, but it couldn't be helped, "-and her daughter. Sally and George. What's happening with these Shadow Warriors? Why are you really here, Malik?"  
"I told you, I'm trying to get away from them. It's not just the defanging that made him angry, he's taking revenge on everyone who's ever slighted him, all over the world. Vampires were flooding to the catacombs in Paris, trying to hide, hoping for safety in numbers – that's where I met Asan – but they found us there, too. We barely escaped." He closed his eyes for a moment, hanging his head, then looked up at Vlad with a more sorrowful expression than Vlad had ever seen from him. "Erin wasn't so lucky. I'm sorry."

The news barely touched him; he couldn't take it in, and so he discarded the information, for the moment. It wasn't relevant just now; he could mourn when they were safe.  
"And you, Bertrand? Where did you go after I brought you back, straight to Malik? Were you working with him all along after all?" Now Bertrand didn't bother to conceal his hurt.  
"I went to Davos Ikeous in the mountains, to find out if it was bringing me back that had made you ill. I meant to bring back a cure as soon as possible, but Asan and Malik arrived in the middle of the night with news of the Shadow Warriors and the next thing we knew, they were there too. Davos is fine – he has a light-room, as you know, constant moonlight – but everyone who went in there is locked down until the Shadow Warriors leave. We had to get back here, so Asan offered to bring us, and here we are."  
"If you went to Davos, did you meet his assistant?"  
"Talitha? Yes." Vlad relaxed a fraction at Bertrand's assertion but Malik couldn't seem to resist butting in with a smirk.  
"She's very... _spirited_." Well, he supposed he had to give him that.

"Right. Let's go and find some torches, put the lights on, all that stuff. Renfield, Bertrand... Malik, you'd better come too. Come on."

* * *

"Oh, yeah, of course. Leave the women and children behind, all this saving people from monsters stuff is _man's work_." Ingrid was fuming, prowling the edges of the circle, and her father was trying to placate her.  
"I'm here too, it's not like _everyone _here is completely useless." For some reason, his apologetic grimace was directed at Asan. Ingrid snorted.  
"That's debatable. Alright, the women, children, and decrepit old men. Happy?"  
"Not particularly."

At this juncture, Sally seemed to decide it was a good idea to interrupt.  
"Do you take in _anyone _who comes here looking for help?" The Count grimaced, obviously affronted by the implication that he was a pushover.  
"No, of course not! Just-"  
"Erin, Ryan, Bertrand, Wolfie, Malik, Malik's entire gang of street-fangs..." Ingrid finished with a smirk.  
"I- that was-"  
"Perhaps I misjudged you," Sally allowed, "you're not _such_ a monster after all."

At that, her father had the nerve to look _pleased_. Ingrid folded her arms and glared at them all.

* * *

"I don't see why you wanted me to come too, someone should probably stay and look after the kids and the girls-" Malik was complaining, and Vlad was getting sick of it.  
"Ingrid can take care of herself, and Dad'll look after everyone else. I'm not leaving you with any of the kids or breathers unguarded, I still don't trust you."  
"Charming."  
"Can you blame me, Malik?"  
"Oh, yeah, 'cos _you're_ so perfect. Remind me, what did Bertrand do to betray you-?"  
"Malik, stop." That was Bertrand himself, laying a hand on the small of Vlad's back as if to reassure him that he was forgiven.  
"But he-"  
"_Enough_. If you two must fight, you can stick to your own grudges. Don't drag me into it. But I rather thought we had more important matters at hand." Vlad wasn't sure how he felt about being forgiven so easily, but Bertrand was right; the Shadow Warriors were more important. Renfield had reached the fuse box now, only to find a mess of tangled wires and blown fuses. The other Draculas hadn't been much for electric light since the school had closed, it seemed.  
"Oh – but we do have... a torch, and a glowstick. From the school disco." He snapped it and held it up, grinning stupidly. Vlad snatched the torch and switched it on.  
"This is it?" He didn't have much time to complain, though, as Bertrand grabbed his hand and twisted the torch to point straight at a shadow that had just appeared in the dim light of the hallway. It vapourised, but no doubt it would be back soon. "Run!"

In their scramble to get up the stairs, Renfield panicked and dropped his glowstick. There were three of the creatures now, but as one of them stepped forward onto the glowstick, smashing it, it began to sizzle and fled. Its comrades seemed to be distracted, so Bertrand grabbed Renfield and they all bundled back into the room where the others waited.  
"We've got a torch. But... Renfield threw a glowstick at one and it hurt it." The Count frowned.  
"Well, have we got more of these... glowsticks?"  
"Er... no, Master. But if I can get to the kitchen, I can make the insidey bit."

With that, it was decided. Renfield needed a diversion so he could do his science; they split into teams and, cautiously, left the circle of light.

* * *

"Stay close, Wolfie," Ingrid told her little brother, "I'll look after you." Malik was a little way ahead, but Wolfie obediently stuck with Ingrid.  
"I don't like that boy that came," he told her quietly, "Asan, he scares me a bit."  
"Why does he scare you? More than Bertrand who should be dead, or Malik who went on a rampage?"  
"That was my mother-" Malik protested, before turning to sweep his torch over another stretch of wall.  
"He knocked one of the candles over earlier, so it went out, and whenever I tried to tell anyone he interrupted me."  
"You can't just not like strangers because they _talk_, Wol-" Then Malik yelped as a Shadow Warrior appeared from nowhere and sent him flying sideways, and Ingrid abandoned the conversation to wave a candle at it before handing the light to Wolfie. "Keep hold of- Wolfie, run!"

A Shadow Warrior had her pinned to the wall, and Wolfie was standing there with his little candle as if trying to gather the courage to attack it. Ingrid could feel the Shadow Warrior's fingers closing around her throat, and while she didn't need to breathe, she could feel the strength in those talons; they could decapitate her in an instant.  
"Malik!"  
"Who are those breathers, really?" He was holding Wolfie back, now, which was some relief, but he wasn't helping-  
"Is this the time?"  
"No time like it. Tell me!"  
"His tutor-"  
"He'd have ditched her when he got Bertrand back. Who, really?" Ingrid couldn't even form words any more, vision beginning to blur, so she'd never know if she would have told him if she could have.

"Sally's Vlad's real mum, help her!" Malik dived forwards at Wolfie's words and plunged a bit of broken crate through the shadow's heart, allowing Ingrid to drop to the floor and get her bearings.  
"He's half-breather? Some _Chosen _One, he's not even fit to lead _our_ family-"  
"If the Council find out," Ingrid wheezed, "they'll kill us all. You too." Malik slammed his hand against a wall, then bent to retrieve his bit of broken crate, passing a second one to his sister.  
"You should have told me."  
"You should have _helped_ me."  
"Did I do the wrong thing?" Wolfie was peering up at her, worried, and she ruffled his hair fondly.  
"No, Wolfie. You saved me, thank you. Let's get back to the light, I've had enough excitement for now."

* * *

Vlad, Sally and George stole through the school on their own mission, which was only _partly_ to distract the shadows from Renfield and his team. That, at any rate, was his excuse for how quietly they were moving as they passed through the sports hall. It wasn't quiet enough, of course, and a Shadow Warrior appeared from nowhere to terrorise them, but Vlad set fire to a convenient tennis ball and managed to chase it away with that. When they got to the cupboard at the back of the room, they found what they were looking for.  
"Wow! Your school must have had really great sports days." George had a point.

* * *

Renfield and Asan had got a little way ahead of them when Bertrand suddenly spoke in a low voice.  
"So Vlad just got better?" The Count frowned; Bertrand was clever, he'd have to watch what he said.  
"Yes, a trifling illness, as it turns out. Some sort of-"  
"So it's true, he had a cold?" The Count came to an abrupt halt halfway down the corridor, and Bertrand turned to face him. "He's part-breather. I overheard you and Renfield, before I left. I wasn't sure what to believe, but this... _tutor_ of his... does she know?"  
"Yes." There didn't seem any point in denying it. "Yes, she knows. Are you going to tell the Council?" Bertrand blinked.  
"I'm not going to tell _anyone_. I serve the Chosen One – I serve Vlad. Where he comes from makes no difference to me." Renfield, already in the kitchen, gave a shout and they had to spring into action – the Count attempted to scare the Shadow Warrior with a fireball, which didn't work out very well, and then grabbed Asan to steer him safely back to the circle of light. The last he saw of Bertrand was when the vampire dragged the manservant into the larder and slammed the door behind himself.

Well, if the man was killed by Shadow Warriors, he certainly couldn't tell anyone what he'd discovered.

* * *

Vlad dumped the water pistols he'd retrieved from the sports cupboard inside the circle of candles and put Wolfie in charge of guarding them before realising that two people weren't back yet.  
"Where are Bertrand and Renfield?" His father shrugged.  
"A Shadow Warrior attacked; the last I saw they'd locked themselves in the larder."  
"Renfield was the _whole point_ of the- never mind. I'll go and find them."  
"Take Malik with you," Ingrid suggested, "he killed one."  
"Well, you distracted it for me-"  
"Fine. Malik, come on."

When they reached the kitchen, there were no Shadow Warriors in sight, but the larder door swung open to reveal Renfield stirring a glowing bowl of... well, _gunk_. Bertrand seemed to have spread some around the edges of the door in an attempt to keep them safe, and now had it all over his hands. Still, it was all they needed, and with their escort to accompany them they were soon safely back upstairs.

They found utter chaos waiting for them as Wolfie protectively clung to George with one arm and as many water pistols as he could with the other. Sally had her arms around the pair of them, and Asan was just sitting between two candles, looking terrified as two Shadow Warriors attempted to fight the Draculas they'd left behind.  
"Renfield, help him load the guns. Malik, help Ingrid. Bertrand, with me, Dad needs backup." Snatching up candles, they managed to distract and disorientate the warriors until-  
"EAT GOO, SHADOWMONSTERS!" George opened fire with a triumphant cry, and Wolfie was right beside her, aiming at the other creature. They pulled no punches, going right for the eyes, and the creatures were gone almost before the other combatants could process the information. Indeed, Ingrid managed to punch Malik in the face by accident as their opponent disappeared from between them. She looked almost ready to apologise, then shrugged, and Malik mimicked the gesture.

* * *

Ingrid was sitting next to Wolfie, at his request, and he'd insisted that she be treated as a hero for surviving a Shadow Warrior attack. George was on his other side, beaming proudly, and Sally beside her – though she looked more tired than anything. Meanwhile, the Count was fussing over Vlad and Malik as usual, and for some reason he seemed to have taken a distinct liking to Asan. Oh, well, it wasn't as if Ingrid could get any lower on the list of her father's favourites. As she watched, Malik detached himself from the celebration to talk to Bertrand, and they seemed to be having a whispered debate in the corner - Malik was angry, no doubt about Vlad's parentage, and Bertrand... well, if that _was _what they were talking about, Bertrand seemed surprisingly unperturbed, calming Malik with swift words she couldn't hear.

The Count, oblivious to this rather suspicious behaviour, broke off from talking to the boys in order to raise a glass of blood in a toast.  
"Here's to all of us, vanquishers of the Shadow Warriors, conquerors of legends. Let's see Ramanga try to take us on now."

* * *

Far away, in the middle of the desert, the sun began to rise.


End file.
